Richard Knaak - The Sundering

Vashj still tugged on her arm. Azshara’s infinite patience had its limits. She suddenly slapped her lady-in-waiting.

The others froze where they were, the fact that their surroundings threatened to collapse upon them forgotten. They fully expected their mistress to now execute Vashj on the spot.

Instead, in her most regal voice, Azshara commanded, “You will all remember your places! I expect you to obey the instructions I have given you! We will continue to prepare for our Lord Sargeras’s entrance…”

To emphasize her point, she strode to one of her chairs. The first tremor had toppled it over, but Vashj quickly righted it, then dusted off the seat with the hem of her own garment.

Nodding approval, Azshara sat. Her handmaidens immediately took up their positions and Vashj poured the queen a goblet of wine, somehow avoiding spilling it despite the continued shaking of the palace.

“Thank you, Lady Vashj,” the queen of the night elves said graciously. She sipped a bit, then posed herself in expectation. No matter how long it took for Sargeras to arrive, she would be ready for him. He would step before her and be dazzled by her perfection, as all were.

After all, she was Azshara.

As Ysera reached the shore, Malfurion, the Demon Soul pressed against his breast, eyed the grand capital of the night elves with horror. Attuned to the natural forces of Kalimdor, he recognized immediately imminent disaster. Recognized it and realized that he had to act fast.

“My brother and Tyrande! They’re still in Zin-Azshari! Please! I can’t leave them!”

“You know where they are?”

“I do!”

The massive green dragon nodded. “Guide me, but make it quick!”

They turned off without alerting the others. Malfurion peered across the shoreline. Ysera had flown so swiftly that they had been forced to backtrack some distance, but the druid sensed that they were finally near the other night elves.

There! Tyrande waved to him, the sight of her so wonderful that Malfurion momentarily forgot that he was also here for his twin. Only after recalling that did the druid suddenly note that Illidan was nowhere to be seen.

Ysera landed. As ever, the Aspect gazed around with eyes shut, but Malfurion understood by now that, despite appearances, she could see far better than most creatures.

He leapt off. Tyrande met him, clinging to Malfurion with such intensity that he momentarily could think of nothing else than doing the same. Only when the dragon cleared her throat slightly did the two reluctantly separate.

“Malfurion — ” the priestess began.

He put his fingers over her lips. “Hush, Tyrande. Where’s Illidan?”

Her eyes widened briefly. She looked over her shoulder. “By the very edge.”

With a curse, the druid ran past her. Illidan surely knew that the land was crumbling about him. How could he be so mad?

As he scrambled around a ruined tower, Malfurion nearly collided with his twin. Illidan somehow managed to stare at him with his covered eye sockets.

“Brother… a timely return…”

“Illidan! The Well is out of control — ”

The sorcerer nodded. “Aye! It’s been twisted and turned by too many spells! That fuss we — especially you — made with the Demon Soul was too much! The same spell that sent the Burning Legion back into their foul realm now works on the Well! It’s devouring itself and taking its surroundings with it!” He turned back to the black body of water. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Not if we’re caught up in it! Why weren’t you running?”

Illidan wiped his hand. Only then did Malfurion see the slight glimmer of power surrounding it. He also noted the moisture.

“What’ve you been doing with your hand in the Well, Illidan?”

At that moment, a tremendous tremor sent both night elves to their knees. Illidan shouted, “If you’ve a way out of here, we should probably use it! I’ve tried casting Tyrande and myself out of here, but the Well is too much in flux!”

“This way!” Malfurion grabbed his brother by the arm and dragged Illidan back to the others. Tyrande already sat upon Ysera. She aided Illidan up, then Malfurion.

At that moment, a huge form hovered overhead. The druid instinctively expected some demonic horror, then saw that it was none other than Krasus and Alexstrasza.

“The Demon Soul!” the mage shouted. “You have it still?”

The night elf slapped one of the pouches at his waist. He had secreted the disk in it just before Ysera had landed.

Krasus nodded in relief. “Hurry, then! We must fly fast and far! Even the air will not be safe!”

Well aware by now that the mage knew so much more than he had yet admitted, Malfurion held on tight. Ysera rose from the rubble just as another crevice opened up beneath her paws.

“Zin-Azshari is going…” the cowled spellcaster cried, “and it is only the beginning!”

The two dragons beat their wings as hard as they could, but they moved as if flying through tar. Malfurion looked behind and saw that the sky above the Well no longer even existed. A huge funnel cloud enshrouded everything. Illidan had spoken much of the truth, it seemed. Between the spellwork of the demons, that of the elder gods, and the defenders’ own efforts, the Well of Eternity had been torn asunder once too often.

Had he and his friends saved the world, only to destroy it?

What first he took for deafening thunder rattled the druid. He clutched his ears, waiting for it to pass.

“Look!” cried Tyrande, her lips near enough to him for her voice to still be heard. “The city!”

They watched… watched as the ground beyond Zin-Azshari broke apart. A great canyon miles deep opened. The entire capital literally began sliding toward the Well.

“The… pull… grows… greater!” Ysera roared.

The Well was drawing the surrounding regions into its maw, literally devouring Kalimdor. Zin-Azshari now floated in the black waters, an island bobbing about like so much flotsam. Ironically, the palace still stood mostly intact, although the tower where the Highborne had moved after the destruction of their previous sanctum leaned precariously.

Ominous bolts of energy played around the city as it neared the maelstrom’s gullet. Unlike much of what the Well tore loose from Kalimdor, Zin-Azshari headed straight for the center. Malfurion felt Tyrande’s grip on him tighten to the point of pain.

“It’s going…” she whispered. “It’s going…”

Around her, Azshara’s handmaidens screamed. Vashj clung to her leg. The queen held her empty goblet, refusing to accept what was happening to her palace. She was Azshara, Light of Lights, supreme ruler of her people! She had not permitted this!

Sargeras would not be coming. Azshara understood that, although she had not said so to her followers. It would not do to let them know that she realized that she had erred. Somehow, the rabble had kept him from coming to Kalimdor… from coming to her.

The rumbling grew louder. A darkness in which even night elves could not see suddenly enveloped the palace. The only illumination came from the untamed forces of the Well. Black water began pouring into the palace, washing away two of her servants. Their screams were quickly drowned out.

I am Azshara! she silently insisted, her expression constant. With but a thought, the queen created a shield that surrounded her and those still remaining. My desires are absolute!

Her power kept the water at bay, but the pressure of maintaining her shield quickly grew troublesome. Azshara’s brow furrowed and beads of sweat — the first sweat of her life — appeared on her forehead.

Then… voices whispered from the gloom, voices calling to her, promising her escape.

There is a way… there is a way… you will become more than you ever were… more than you ever were… we can help… we can help…